Der Widerspruch
by Lor Wells
Summary: A chance meeting one night leaves Omi questioning Weiss and its beliefs. NagiOmi Chapter Three uploaded
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Omi, Nagi, or any other characters from Weiss Kreuz.  
  
Warnings: This is yaoi, meaning maleXmale action, so if you don't like, don't read! No flames!  
  
Pairings: OmixNagi, more later on.  
  
AN: So, I decided to leave my comfortable little position in the Yu-gi-oh fandom and move on to other things-- My long-loved series, Weiss. I had always disliked Omi, but recently after re-watching the series I developed a strange fondness of the kid. Nagi seemed like an obvious choice to pair Omi with, as Yohji and Aya seem too old for him and it would feel too much like pedophilia. (I know, I know... Omi is *nearly* legal, but he looks 12.) So I'm sorry . KenxOmi would be ok, except that I HATE Ken with a passion. Sorry to all the Ken-lovers out there. So, OmiXNagi it is. Enjoy!  
  
*****  
  
Omi stepped into the crowded subway train, eyes immediately searching for an empty seat.  
  
After a quick inspection he groaned inwardly, not at all surprised that they were all occupied.  
  
Normally that wouldn't have bothered Omi one bit, as he was the kind of person who would gladly give up his seat if some elderly lady with a million grocery bags and a cane walked onto the train.  
  
Today, however, was different.  
  
Today, absolutely nothing had gone right.  
  
It started in the morning. As he was about to leave for school, he discovered that his bike wouldn't start, and he could not figure out what was wrong with it. Because of this, he had to drag Yohji out of bed (since Aya and Ken were both working in the flower shop) and beg for a ride. After much pleading and illegal use of the 'puppy eyes', a dazed and hung over Yohji agreed, muttering something about how his precious sleep was constantly being interrupted because of 'stupid' and 'petty' things such as school and work. And Yohji, still being somewhere between not-quite- awake and not-quite-asleep, took much longer to get ready than was necessary. In fact, he was still groggy in the car.  
  
Needless to say, Omi was a good hour and a half late to class.  
  
After serving his detention for failing to come to school on time, Omi walked home intending to spend the extra time he had off from flower shop duty to catch up on his schoolwork. His plans went down the toilet when Ken handed him an address and five-dozen roses, stating that they had to be delivered A.S.A.P.  
  
He spent the next two hours on various trains and buses, looking for an apartment in an obscure part of town. He got there and rang the doorbell, and the lady that answered insisted that she had not ordered flowers. There was nothing left for Omi to do except to go back and explain the mix-up to Ken, and when they checked the address again, they realized that Omi had mistaken Ken's '9' for a '4'.  
  
It wasn't his fault, Omi thought miserably, that Ken had messy, scribbly writing.  
  
So he was sent off on his merry way again, holding the slightly wilting roses in his arms. When he got to the right apartment, to say that the man who answered the door was 'upset' would be the understatement of the century. He yelled about how late it was and how his fiancé left hours ago, even informing Omi of which body part he can shove the 'goddamn' roses up. Omi apologized repeatedly and sincerely understanding the man's irritation, right up until the door was slammed in his face.  
  
When he was walking dejectedly back to the subway station, roses discarded long ago, it started to rain. At first Omi was delighted by the delicate drizzle, but his mood soured when it evolved into a full-fledged downpour complete with thunder and lightning. It was around that time that he realized dismally that with all the homework, it would be a miracle if he got even a half-way decent night of sleep.  
  
Omi was sure that he must have angered some great deity from above, because the gods made sure that no breaks came his way. The way his luck was going, he wouldn't be surprised if he ended up dead in an alley by the end of the night.  
  
With an exhausted sigh, Omi raked a hand through his soaking-wet hair, trying to return some semblance of order to the disheveled blonde mass. As the train started to move he shifted his weight, trying to find a steady position among the throngs of bodies pressing against him. He turned his attention to the window, watching the scenery pass in the colorful blur of neon lights that made nighttime Tokyo.  
  
A mechanically cheerful voice announced the upcoming Gokokuji station, and Omi automatically noted that there were four more stations until he had to get off.  
  
When the train came to the next stop, a majority of the crowd exited the compartment. Omi patiently settled into a newly freed seat, folding his hands in his lap.  
  
After a few minutes of fidgeting idly, Omi glanced over the other occupants in the compartment with a child-like curiosity that was sure to grow out of him with age.  
  
A few untidy business people were scattered here and there, coming home after a long day's work, ties loosened and shirts un-tucked.  
  
A lone figure in the corner, sitting apart from the rest of populace, caught Omi's eye. The person wore a long raincoat that shielded his body from view, save for the slim legs crossed elegantly at the ankles and the pale hands poking out of the sleeves. He was cloaked in an ocean of azure fabric, hood masking all facial features except the mouth, which was set in a pouting frown. The blue that shrouded the unknown person stood out like a sore thumb against the dull colors of the train (though it wasn't meant to), accidentally causing the figure to be the focal point of the entire scene. The navy seemed to produce a mysterious aura around him, and it suddenly seemed fitting that he would distance himself from the rest of humanity.  
  
Sapphire consumed him-Sapphire, the color of rain, the color of tears, the color of melancholia.  
  
Slender hands tapped skillfully and dexterously over the sleek, black machine on his knees with the grace of a piano player's.  
  
Omi's eyes widened in a giddy sort of excitement when he saw the laptop. He leaned forward slightly in his seat to get a better view, trying not to look too conspicuous. Huge blue eyes traced the contours of the contraption as he filed every detail unconsciously into the recesses of his brain, mathematically trained mind not even overlooking the 112-degree angle of the screen.  
  
'Sugoi!' He thought breathlessly, recognizing the make and model. It was one he had been drooling over for the past weeks, one he desperately wanted to own himself. Urges of running up to the machine and examining it up close fluttered into Omi's mind, and were promptly squashed when he realized that acting upon them would make him look like an eager, hyperactive little kid.  
  
Gloomily he slumped back into the plastic seat, a rare pang of envy making itself known as he remembered that he would never be able to afford the 350,000-yen laptop.  
  
Soon, however, a never-ending supply of optimism overtook jealousy when Omi decided his computer was descent as well, and he *could* start saving up his money, little by little.  
  
The same robotic voice announced his stop, Hikawadai station. Omi was brought out of his reverie at the statement and mentally scolded himself for loosing track of time. He hurriedly gathered his bag from the floor and stood up shakily, waiting for the doors to open with the familiar 'pfwoosh'.  
  
The blue figure already stood in front of the doors, stiff cloth swirling gently about him as he swayed to the forced beat of the train.  
  
Screech. Clunk. Pfwoosh.  
  
The blue figure disappeared before Omi could even blink.  
  
Omi stepped out onto the platform and into the downpour, intending to get back to the Koneko as quickly as possible and change into some nice, dry clothes. Maybe he would make himself a cup of hot chocolate, with marshmallows...  
  
Omi allowed himself a small smile at the pleasant thoughts. His smile faltered, however, when he caught sight of a rectangular disk laying innocently next to his foot at the top the stairs leading into the street. Immediately he connected the memory stick to the laptop-wielding figure on the train, who surely must have been its owner.  
  
He stooped down and picked up the memory stick, biting his lip as he stared wearily at the object. For a second he considered dropping it and leaving- after all, he was tired, cold, and in dire need of a hot shower. Soon conscience reigned supreme, and Omi decided that returning the lost item was the right thing to do. *He* certainly would want a missing object to be returned to him, after all.  
  
He looked around him, trying to spot the figure.  
  
He finally caught sight of the sapphire about a block away on Ikebukuro Street.  
  
"Hey!" Omi called out, voice cutting through the relative silence of the night like a flash of lightening, causing everyone *but* the person who's attention he was trying to get to turn around and look at him curiously.  
  
With a quick sigh he slung his bag over his shoulder and sprinted easily down the narrow sidewalk, darting between the few obstacles like the tiny metal sphere in a pinball machine.  
  
"Hey!" He called again in vain when the figure turned into a side alley half a block away.  
  
With a groan Omi picked up his pace and rounded the corner.  
  
"Hey," Omi started for the third time when he saw the figure stop, and held out the disk. "You dropped your..."  
  
The words died on his lips as the figure turned around, dangerous familiarization barreling into Omi like a freight train.  
  
Blue eyes widened in alarm as they stared into the dark orbs of Schwarz's telekinetic.  
  
Omi's free hand grasped automatically for the darts that *should* have been in his pocket, had he not taken out before his second trip into downtown Tokyo. Alarm soon blossomed into dread when he realized he was standing in a dark, deserted alley with a very armed, *very* dangerous member of Schwarz.  
  
Omi first logical thoughts were ones of fleeing-- to run, to get out into a more crowded place as fast as possible, where he would be relatively safe if the Schwarz member cared at all about concealing his Gift from the public. That idea was impossible, seeing as panic caused his legs to be caught in a stiff, fragile balance where even the slightest movement might cause him to crash to the ground.  
  
Once again his fingers wriggled around desperately in the depths of his pocket, looking for the phantom dart that he hoped he had overlooked.  
  
Nagi hadn't moved since their meeting, arms lax at his sides and head tilted slightly to one side. Eyes stared out from under long-lashed lids, studying the face of his enemy quietly and neutrally.  
  
His gaze drifted downwards when he noticed Omi's moving hand.  
  
"Out of darts, Weiss?" Nagi inquired, voice veiled with indifference.  
  
Omi let out a small gasp of surprise, hand stopping its frantic movements as his gaze moved inevitably to rest on Nagi's face.  
  
It was unbelievable, almost incomprehensible, that this was the face of a killer. The mouth was too soft and delicate to be able to expel the death threats and toxic words that it had many times before. The hands were too fragile and pale to clutch any sort of weapons; instead, it would seem fitting that they would hold a violin, a palette, or anything else equally as tragically beautiful. The facial features were too androgynous to be twisted and distorted by something as ugly as cold-blooded murder.  
  
Omi swallowed once, trying to restore some moisture into his dry mouth. He bit down on his bottom lip as his right foot slid back into a defensive stance, ready to protect himself however he could. He tried to keep calm, rationalizing in his head that panicking now would be the worst possible thing to do.  
  
A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he kept studying Nagi's face, hoping it would shed some light as to what the telekinetic's next move would be. Unfortunately, Nagi's expression betrayed no emotion except that of apathy, and perhaps boredom.  
  
Omi noticed Nagi's eyes catch something behind him and widen ever so slightly.  
  
"Watch out," The Schwarz member said in the same tone, volume a little louder than before.  
  
Omi turned around in confusion at the warning, only to have a fist connect with the side of his face. He let out a cry of surprise as he flew to the pavement, sliding a few feet with the force of the blow.  
  
He winced as he struggled to his knees, white sparkles peppering his vision and fogging his thought process. As he brought his fingers up to wipe the blood from his mouth, as his first instinct was to examine his wound, strong hands pinned his arms back and a heavy weight settled on the back of his thighs, making movement nearly impossible. Omi hissed at the initial pain, fighting to free himself from his attacker.  
  
"Little boys shouldn't be out playing at this time of night," A gruff voice whispered into his ear.  
  
Omi stopped struggling for the moment to roll his eyes up, trying to find the Schwarz boy and see how he was handling himself. The other attacker backed the other boy to the corner, lifting him up by the collar. The telekinetic's face was bowed to one side, eyes trained disinterestedly on the ground, head bobbing along with the assailant's annoyed shakes. His bag was lying open on the ground, various notebooks and papers spilling carelessly from their protective case.  
  
Omi thought it amazing that the other boy could be so tranquil when his life, *both* their lives, were in such obvious danger.  
  
He pushed aside the temporary awe at the other boy's placidity and focused again at his predicament, trying helplessly to throw the man off of his body.  
  
Omi's moves became hazy and uncoordinated with desperation when he felt grubby fingers searching under his sweatshirt for the waistband of his pants. Dozens of useless thoughts ran through his mind, none of which provided him with any solution.  
  
And then, it was all gone. No more hands under his shirt, no more weight holding him down. He was once again in full control of his body.  
  
Dazed, Omi carefully picked himself off the ground, gently rubbing his sore arms. He turned around in time to see both assailants being moved and lifted by some unseen force, by some kind of ghastly magic. They were hanging in the air, unmoving, arms outstretched-- marionettes suspended by the macabre telekinetic, the puppeteer.  
  
Time stood still.  
  
Then, suddenly, a 'thud' accompanied strangled cry as the men were thrown against the wall, skulls snapping back with great force, thin rivulets of dark liquid streaming down from behind their heads gathering gruesomely into a puddle on the ground.  
  
The men floated forward about five feet, only to be crushed against the brick once again. And again. And again.  
  
Omi watched in morbid fascination, mouth gaped open in enthrallment. The scene was wraithlike, eerie, godly, something out of a horror novel. Mesmerizing.  
  
Compassion finally broke the hypnotizing spell he was bound in, and breathlessly he called out to Nagi hoping to prevent the murder that was about to take place. "No," He made his way towards the Schwarz boy. "Please, stop," Omi pleaded, glazed-over eyes glued on the bloody figures as he tentatively placed a hand on the boy's arm.  
  
The men were held in the air, telekinetic obviously contemplating Omi's words. Finally the invisible hold on the men dissipated and they slumped to the ground, unconscious.  
  
Omi let out his breath of relief, feeling calmer than he had been during the whole ordeal.  
  
Nagi stared out at the crumpled figures for another moment then silently dropped to his knees, gathering the rain-soaked papers and notebooks from the ground.  
  
Omi observed him curiously, amazed at the transformation he'd undergone in the last few seconds. While using his powers he was oblivious to everything around him, concentrating as a deadly expression hung over his face, revealing a dark grudge that the boy had against humanity. Now, he was back to the mysterious persona he displayed on the train, the unknowing artist.  
  
Omi blinked away his speculations, scolding himself for forgetting his manners. He too fell to his knees and helped gather the scattered items. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Nagi's face, still nervous about being in such close proximity of Schwarz. Nevertheless, in the past hour the two of them developed a sort of weak bond, a temporary truce drawn up simply from sharing an experience... An understanding.  
  
Omi's eyebrows furrowed worriedly upon noticing the slight bruises on his neck, dark circles caused by pressing fingers. "Are you ok?" He asked cautiously.  
  
Nagi's head moved up to meet Omi gaze, lingering, unanswered question hanging heavily in the air.  
  
"Better than you."  
  
Omi smiled warmly at the statement, which he decided to interpret as a stranger's concern. He unconsciously fingered the set of forming bruises and scratches on the right side of the face. "I'll be ok. I've had worse."  
  
Still, something bothered the blonde-haired boy. If there was one thing that Omi could not stand, it would be sadness. And the Schwarz boy seemed to be the epitome of it. Melancholy lined his eyes like a thick mascara, heavy and black. Indifference permeated from him, now a natural scent.  
  
"Are you alright?" Omi asked again, this time questioning the telekinetic's emotional well-being rather than his physical one.  
  
When Nagi looked at him blankly, he elaborated. "No, I mean... Is everything ok? You seem... a little sad."  
  
The hard, unwavering gaze the chocolate haired boy gave him unnerved the Weiss member and he immediately regretted prying into the other boy's life. "I'm sorry," He started quickly. "I shouldn't be so nosy. Sometimes I get worried and, well..." He trailed off, deciding it was best to keep himself from babbling.  
  
The Schwarz boy nodded slowly in acknowledgement as he gathered the last of his papers into the case, and stood up. Omi followed suit, wiping his damp palms against his equally as damp pants.  
  
"So..." Omi started, trying to hide his nervousness behind a small smile. "Thank you for before, I would have really been in trouble if you hadn't been here." Omi paused, not knowing what else to say. He finally said awkwardly, bowing slightly, "I guess I'll see you around, and thanks again."  
  
"Yes," Nagi responded softly, "I'll see you around."  
  
And with that, the Schwarz boy turned on his heel and continued down the alley.  
  
When the figure was out of sight, Omi let out the breath he had been holding. Immediately he felt a hundred pounds lighter, maybe he was even weak with relief. He tried to bring his hammering heart back to a normal rate, closing his eyes in order to calm himself down.  
  
Omi rubbed his temples tiredly, then looked for his bag. His wandering eyes came to a stop on the forgotten assailants. He contemplated calling for an ambulance, but thought better of it since he would have to answer more questions and spend the rest of the night at a police station. He did, however, check for a steady pulse and made sure that none of their injuries were life-threatening.  
  
Omi finally spotted his bag, resting near a dumpster and tarnished with mud and dirt. As he walked to get it, the boy stumbled over something on the ground. A feeling of unwelcome déjà vu washed over him as he picked up the notebook to inspect it. Sure enough, the small, neat writing inside indicated that the item belonged to none other than Naoe Nagi. Too exhausted to decipher his emotion, be it negative or positive towards the discovery, he tucked the book into his bag and trudged home.  
  
*****  
  
"Omi, is that you?" a voice accompanied by clattering dishes and running water drifted from the kitchen.  
  
Omi slipped off his shoes and padded down the hallway. "Hai, Ken-kun, it's me."  
  
"What took so long?" When Ken finally poked his head out of the kitchen and noticed Omi's face, the previous question became insignificant. "What happened to you?" He questioned, immediately setting down the dishtowel and plate he was wiping and examined the injury.  
  
Omi opened his mouth, about to spill out all the details of his eventful evening. He stopped himself, however, and came to the decision that he would not mention his meeting with Nagi of Schwarz. As much as he hated lying to his teammates, he did not want them to worry unnecessarily about him. After all, Nagi didn't harm him, right?  
  
In fact, Omi felt a pang of regret that Nagi was his enemy. He even almost wanted to become friends with the boy, as the Schwarz member looked so lonely and sad before.  
  
Before he could delve into another deep contemplation, Omi pushed aside the 'forbidden' feelings. He shook them off, rationalizing that they probably sprouted from his yearning for a friend that understood him. Sure, he had a few friends at school, but there was always the secret of him being an assassin that he could never reveal to any outsider. He supposed that Nagi was in a similar situation, and he wished that they could talk since they shared similar secrets that were already known to one another.  
  
"Ah, I was attacked on my way home," He said simply.  
  
Ken brought out a first aid kit and cleaned Omi's wound as the boy explained in depth what transpired after he left the flower shop that afternoon (leaving out Nagi, of course). Soon after, an argument about whether or not Omi would attend school the following day took place.  
  
Omi smiled at Ken's concern, reassuring him that he was fine and that he would indeed attend for the sake of missing any important material.  
  
After that was settled, Omi returned to his room and sat down at his desk to finish the homework that was due the following day.  
  
While taking out his school textbooks, his hands came upon the notebook that belonged to Nagi.  
  
Omi would have to return the book somehow; there was no question about it. Not only was it wrong to keep it, but he was also indebted to Nagi since the boy had, in a sense, saved his life.  
  
He turned over the notebook in his hands, opening the cover. Inside, on the first few lines, he found the address of Nagi's school stamped out in blue ink.  
  
Tomorrow, he would drop the notebook off at the school. It was settled.  
  
And with that, Omi started writing his research paper.  
  
*****  
  
AN: Hmm, more 'action' in chapter 2. It's kind of a slow start, but I'm just taking my time. ;P Please review! ^_^ I'll love you forever if you do! (What can POSSIBLY be better than getting my eternal love? XP) Constructive criticism is appreciated as well. Also, if anyone has any pairings they would like to see later on, please tell be and I'll consider it, since I can't decide on which pairing I want to put in later on. Thanks to everyone who read this! I appreciate it. ^^ 


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
Warnings: Yaoi coming soon, hopefully. Angst later on. Violence, too.  
  
AN: I sortakinda know where this is going. So that's a plus, I suppose. I also have everything planned out pretty thoroughly for the next three chapters, it's just a matter of getting it down. Another plus. Now, using logic one can deduce that I will be able to update more often since I've planned ahead. Well, that's wrong. I like to go against logic because... because it's just too damn boring. This is the last update on this story for a long, long time. How long, you ask? I've no idea. At least twice as long as it took me to post this second chapter. (I.e. a very, very long time) I realized that I've been neglecting my other two stories, and must work on those. If there were three of me, I could write three stories at once. Alas, there is not. What a tragedy.  
  
(Shameless Plug--) WOULD ANYONE like to join a YAOI Weiss Kreuz online RPG? It seems that most Weiss RPG groups are closing or send out one message a year... So, I am starting my own. If you like the anime, yaoi, Weiss and Schwarz bois doing each other, AND a plot, JOIN! There are a lot of characters still available, so if you are interested, please e-mail me at duelequartz22@yahoo.com for details. Eventually I would like to expand to LJ journals, but for now it will be e-mail.  
  
DEDICATIONS: Thanks to my happy anarchist friend, Steve. You're awesome, dude. And thanks for giving me the Zack de la Rocha quote, as I needed a depressing quote like that for the story and would have otherwise never came across it (though I didn't use it in this chapter as I intended to, I will in the future). This part's for you, man. (Please don't shoot me)  
  
I've decided to start replying to the reviews. If you take the time to write a review, I will take the time to write back.  
  
Kasra- One of my pet peeves is when writers portray OmixNagi to be a sweet, fluffy, carefree romance, when it could never be that (not completely, at least). And thank you for what you said about my pacing; it is probably the aspect of my writing that I'm least comfortable with. I always feel like I'm going waaaay too slow. -_- And yes, STUPID KEN! ::stabs Ken:: ..]) I think you're perverted side has taken over permanently. ::cough:: Ehhh... my vocabulary isn't that impressive. But thanks anyway. Nope, no dictionary. I do, however, keep a thesaurus on hand. And even use it once in a while. And of course you're not stupid, 'cuz you're smart.  
  
Ashen Skies- Yeah... in my opinion, Nagi is one of the hardest characters in the series to portray well since his personality isn't revealed in depth. You kinda have to fill in the gaps yourself, and I'm not very imaginative when it comes to these things. X_x His characterization may seem ok now, but we'll see how it goes in the long run when Omi and Nagi are actually together. . That's even more of a challenge. Thanks for the review!  
  
LilPurplFlwr- Thank you. Your comments are always appreciated.  
  
TariOfNargothrond- I'm glad that you liked it. My ego likes to hear things like that.  
  
Kyra2- Damn. You noticed. ~_~;;  
  
dragonchild- Thanks for reading this story so far. Yes, Omi is cute, Nagi is cute, and they're even cuter together. I'm glad to hear that you like it.  
  
Ambika-san- Thank you, a good start is always... well, good. ^_^; I myself am not entirely sure what will be happening in the future, but I guess we'll see. Thanks for reading.  
  
Sierra- Thank you, I am humbled by all the positive reviews I'm getting. Here's the next chapter. It's not exactly "soon"... but hey, 1 out of 2 isn't that bad.  
  
Riku- Thanks! They are adorable, aren't they? ::pinches chibi Omi's and chibi Nagi's cheeks:: Hm. I must've missed those hundreds of yelling people... =P But you are awfully sweet. ::hug::  
  
TreizFic- Ah, a review that almost made me hang my head in shame for not posting this sooner. I applaud you, as it takes a lot to shame me. Another person noticed the glitch in my fic concerning the memory stick. Why must you all be so damn perceptive? ::sigh:: But anyways, I haven't killed it; it was just hibernating. Nagi n' Omi needed the rest for the things I have planned for them in the near future... Heheheh. Oooh, thankyou for confirming that the title is indeed what I intended it to be. (My father told me the German, but... well, he lies . so I was never completely sure) I must say, your review is the epitome of a great review. I love to get reviews like this. ^-^ (I'm such a review whore .)  
  
Nene- Yes, I heard the expression too. Though I was never sure whether it was "tee", or "tea", or "T". Damn English language. . Grr. But that's a whole other rant. Thanks for reading and reviewing. ^^  
  
Box- Again, I apologize for my slow-ness. I'm a perfectionist in every sense of the word, and must check over everything 2938569734 times before posting. . Thanks for your nice words.  
  
Tomoe- "Cute" as in the characters are cute ('cuz they are indeed) or "cute" as in the story is cute? Because that is a problem. I am a big proponent of angst, in all shapes and forms, and strive day and night for non-cuteness. Thanks for the review, and for your love! (Someone sends me love! W00t!)  
  
Mindmelda- Thanks for reviewing!  
  
And I'm done.  
  
ENJOY! (And that's an order)  
  
*****  
  
Chapter 2  
  
*****  
  
Nov. 2nd, 7:22 AM  
  
"Hey, Aya-kun?" Omi asked into his bowl of colorful marshmallow cereal. "Do you think that maybe Schwarz broke up?" Thoughtful, he swirled his spoon in the milk.  
  
"Hn, I doubt it." Came the deep voice, interweaved with the rush of running water.  
  
"Why?" Omi asked, hoping to push the somber redhead into speaking more than just monosyllables. "I mean, we haven't had a big mission in over two months... And the ones we *have* had definitely weren't Schwarz related. Isn't it possible that... that maybe they've disbanded?"  
  
Omi looked at Aya's back expectantly, noticing the way his shoulders tensed at the mention of Schwarz. He knew this was a slightly delicate subject for Aya, one he often got riled up over; so if his teammate didn't want to answer, he would not push the subject.  
  
"I hate to say this, chibi," Yohji's voice interrupted between yawns as he sauntered into the kitchen, catching the last part of the conversation. "But I think this is what they call the 'calm before the storm'. I'm sure they're planning something." He ruffled Omi's hair affectionately as he walked past him to get a cup of coffee.  
  
Ken nodded in agreement, looking up from the magazine he was skimming. "And even *if* they weren't together anymore, would it really make a difference? We'd still have to deal with four murdering psychos, one way or the other. It's not like they suddenly had an epiphany and joined a convent, right?"  
  
"Well, no... But they could've changed. If they wanted to."  
  
Aya turned away from the sink and leaned against the counter, folding his arms. "You put too much faith in people, Omi. People like Schwarz... they don't know guilt; they have no principals, no morals. People like that, people who have no conscience, can't change. It'd be like trying to change your own DNA sequence."  
  
Omi cupped his cheek in the palm of his hand, frowning over Aya's words. Anyone can change if they really wanted to, right? He saw no reason why they couldn't. IF, that is, they had the will. After all, to be moral and to feel guilt was part of the definition of being human. Without those qualities, humans wouldn't be humans anymore. They would be reduced to savage animals worried only about their self-preservation, just like every other known organism on the earth.  
  
It's as simple as that. Right?  
  
Aya may know a lot of things about human behavior and sociology, Omi decided with finality, but he was wrong about this.  
  
"Jeez, Aya, you gotta be so pessimistic? What a depressing way to start the day." Yohji said lightly, mock-pouting. "Where did that question come from, anyway? I know Mr. Sunshine over there-" Aya's glare had the power to temporarily freeze Yohji's vocal chords, but he soon continued, undeterred. "--spends 95% of his free time thinking about Schwarz and plotting. Didn't think that you made a hobby out of it, Omi."  
  
"Ah, I kinda...ran into Schwarz yesterday." He winced in advance, knowing he set off a chain of cause-and-effect reactions: He withheld potentially important information. Thus, Aya would not be pleased. Thus, there would be questions.  
  
And so on.  
  
Omi shoulders slouched forward, body withdrawing into itself defensively as he prepared to face a charging brigade of questions concerning this incident and the reason for his not telling his teammates sooner.  
  
Omi expected and hoped for voiced disapproval but was met with what he was most uncomfortable with-- silence. Unnatural in the modern world, it is a Babbitt that could conform to any mood and emotion. It is vague, indiscreet, deceitful-Which is why Omi avoided it whenever possible, preferring small talk or a hummed melody over the quiet any day.  
  
"...What happened? What did they want?" Yohji finally broke the curse. The front line of soldiers charge into battle.  
  
"Nothing. We just bumped into each other coincidentally."  
  
Aya snorted in distaste. "Right. That explains your bruises." Raise rifles... Aim... fire... hit.  
  
Omi frowned, shaking his head. "No, they're not from that." He stopped for a second, trying to decide what he was and wasn't going to say. He finally chose to go with a quick anecdote, forgoing all the details, as they would only result in more inquiries. "We ran into each other in an alley and got attacked by a couple of muggers. He helped me out. I could've been hurt really, really badly if he wasn't there to save me." Omi averted his eyes as a blush stained his cheeks, suddenly feeling foolish and weak to be caught in such a helpless situation. Without his weapons, at that. Or even a cell phone! Omi scolded himself. If anything worse had happened, he would have nothing to blame other than his own stupidity and carelessness.  
  
"He? He who?" Ken asked. The reinforcements arrive, barrels of gunpowder in hand.  
  
"Uh, the telekinetic boy... Naoe Nagi."  
  
Again, silence prevailed as the new information was chewed up and digested by the others. The armies retreat, satisfied.  
  
Yohji looked back at Omi worriedly. "Are you sure he didn't do anything to you? That kid is one dangerous sonuvagun." One last check, make sure the enemy is down.  
  
"Yes," Omi said wearily. He fidgeted with his napkin. "Look, I'm sorry. All of it was my fault, and I promise to be more careful next time." He looked up and darted his eyes across the faces of his teammates. "So could you stop worrying about me, please?" He asked, feeling sheepish.  
  
A few more moments of silent contemplation, and soon everyone seemed content and secure enough to go back to their daily routine.  
  
"If anything like this ever happens again, you will tell us sooner." Aya stated, once again facing the sink.  
  
"We only worry 'cuz we care about you, bishounen. You know that, right?" Yohji stood behind Ken's chair, leaning against the refrigerator and stirring his coffee.  
  
Omi smiled weakly, a little somnolent of the conversation. "Yes, I know, Yohji-kun. Thank you."  
  
Luckily for Omi, something else seemed to catch the playboy's interest and he abruptly transferred his attention from the boy to the magazine Ken held. "Whatcha reading, Kenken?"  
  
The tone of Yohji's voice indicated that he was definitely (and perhaps unfortunately) in one of his playful moods.  
  
Startled, Ken turned his head around only to find the magazine snatched gracefully out of his hands. A sports magazine, which was used to cover another magazine underneath, fell to the floor.  
  
Ken stared, dumbfounded, then scrambled to his feet in pursuit of the blonde thief, an embarrassed crimson staining his face. "Oi, give that back!"  
  
Yohji, having a several meter head start over the brunette, eyed the article Ken had been reading. "'10 Ways to Woo a Woman'?" He started with a surprised laugh, raising an eyebrow. "Ken, this is shocking." He said with teasing disapproval.  
  
Omi politely tried to hide a regaled smile that was threatening to spill into a grin behind his hand as he watched the standoff, each man stiffly holding their positions at opposite ends of the counter.  
  
Ken, now glowing like a light bulb, tried to steal back his magazine before the blonde playboy could read anything more... damaging. "Why? It's not that big of a deal, right? I'm not the only one who reads these magazines!" Ken stumbled, trying to salvage his pride.  
  
"No, I meant... Since when are you into women?" Yohji said with a grin.  
  
Ken paused, mouth gaping open, and sputtered indignantly.  
  
Omi had to bite back his laugh. "That was mean, Yohji-kun," He chided lightly.  
  
"'Number four. Write her a check for a million kisses. Ask if she would like to cash it at your bank.'" Yohji looked as if he was ready to collapse at any moment. Whether from intense amusement or from disappointment for the way Ken attempted to go about pursuing his romantic prospects, Omi could not tell.  
  
Ken, deciding the situation called for desperate measures, pushed himself over the counter and landed agilely on the other side. Alas, Yohji, being two steps ahead of the brunette and already tired of the round-the-counter chase, took the pursuit to the kitchen table.  
  
"Ken, where in God's name did you get this." He asked with a sigh. "You'd have about as much luck with these as you would with Ye Olde 'How do you like your eggs in the morning?' bit." He waved the magazine in dismissal as if every word contained in it's pages radiated with blasphemy.  
  
Ken dejectedly looked to Omi for help, undoubtedly a last resort. "Omi, tell him to give it back. He listens to you."  
  
"Oh, don't worry. You'll get your magazine back," Yohji conceded.  
  
Relief washed over Ken's whole demeanor. However, it was short-lived.  
  
"-after, that is, he tells us who this secret crush is." Yohji started for the flower shop, flipping casually through the rest of Ken's magazine.  
  
Ken groaned, having no choice but to follow. "C'mon, Yohji..."  
  
Omi listened amusedly as the bickering voices faded from his hearing range. He sighed, shaking his head in exasperated reprehension at the twosome's childish antics. Nevertheless a faint smile came over his face, as these kinds of silly arguments were always able to brighten everyone's day and lighten the atmosphere that was usually heavy with the emotional repercussions of their common profession. It was always these sorts of things that made them forget that they were assassins and remind them that they were human beings, as well as friends.  
  
Omi finished his cereal and checked the time, seeing that he had fifteen minutes before his bus came.  
  
He quickly cleared the table, as he still had to pack a few things for school and get Aya to sign his field trip form.  
  
-----*-----*-----*-----  
  
7:50 AM  
  
"C'mon on, Yohji, quit being a dick." Ken said to the tall blonde, who dangled the magazine in front of him and pulled it away whenever he grabbed at it, apparently enjoying the sadistic game.  
  
"Not until you tell me who it is." He waved a finger in front of Ken's face. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that keeping secrets wasn't very nice?"  
  
Ken rolled his eyes, finally stalking away from the irritating assassin. "Fine, keep it, I don't care. You probably need it more than I do, anyways."  
  
Yohji caught up to him in a flash and slung his arm across Ken's shoulders, firmly keeping it there when Ken tried to shrug it off. "Aww, don't be like that, Ken! I'm on YOUR side here. I'm trying to help." He emphasized the 'your' with a poke to Ken's chest. He continued when he saw that Ken was still looking doubtful. "Seriously. How far do you think you're gonna get with that... that... nonsense?" When the brunette still wasn't responding, Yohji grabbed his shoulders and turned him around to that they were face to face. "Trust me, Ken. Take it from someone who has just a little itty-bitty more experience in these things than you have."  
  
Ken looked down and chewed the inside of his lip, obviously debating whether or not to entrust the blonde with his secret.  
  
"Look, man, the only way I can help you is if I know who it is you're trying to seduce." Yohji said matter-of-factly.  
  
Ken blushed. "I don't want to just 'seduce'!" He paused, that far-away look of a man in love passing into his eyes as a dreamy smile formed on his lips. "I want to have a long relationship with him. He's so sweet, and caring, and whenever I get a cut from the roses or something he always brings out those silly colorful band-aids with the footballs and the soccer balls and he takes my hand and he-"  
  
"Omi?" Yohji asked rather loudly, eyes widening a little in surprise.  
  
"Shhh!" Cried Ken, practically ramming into Yohji as he tried to quiet the other man by covering his mouth. Yohji stumbled backwards with Ken's weight, and with a yelp both assassins came crashing to the ground.  
  
Ken, using his position atop Yohji to his advantage, clamped a firm hand on the blonde's mouth. "Shut up, you moron!" He leaned in, whispering. "He can hear you!" His head swiveled nervously from the door of the kitchen, to Yohji, and then back again, paranoid that someone (particularly a blonde, hyper, seventeen year old someone) was listening from the other room.  
  
"Relax, relax," Yohji said flippantly after he pried Ken's hand away from his face. "He can't hear." Yohji look thoughtful for a minute, then grinned. "You know, I should have known. No wonder you get rose cuts like once a day. You get off on it, don't ya?"  
  
Ken looked horrified. "No, you freak! Those cuts usually happen by accident."  
  
Yohji opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a voice from the kitchen.  
  
"Ken-kun, Yohji-kun," Omi's voice grew progressively louder as he came nearer, rearranging the collar of his coat as his eyes darted around trying to spot something. "Does one of you know here I left..." He trailed off, eyes widening at the... compromising... position he found his two teammates in.  
  
Omi coughed, a pure scarlet painting across the canvas of his face. "I-I'm s-sorry... I'm sorry, I'm sorry to disturb you..."  
  
Ken blinked dumbly. Yohji, suddenly thrilled at the prospect that the morning had the potential to get very, very interesting, put his hands behind his head, Cheshire-cat grin spreading across his face. Just how interesting, was up to him to decide.  
  
"I didn't realize that you two were, uh... Um, I'll get out of your way in a second. Sorry..." He dashed for the door, slipping on and tying his sneakers as faster than he ever did before in his life.  
  
It took Ken a good 15 seconds to realize what was happening. After he finally did, he jumped off the playboy and tried madly to clear the whole mess up. "No, wait, Omi. It's not what you think," He started, voice an unstable compromise between hysterical and embarrassed.  
  
Yohji decided he should contribute to the conversation. "See, Ken? I told you we should stop messing around in the flower shop. I mean, really. Anyone can walk in. What on earth were you thinking? That's what beds are for."  
  
"Or clean kitchen counters." The playboy added thoughtfully.  
  
Omi's eyes widened into blue saucers. "You did... You did it on..." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake the thought from his mind.  
  
Ken turned on his heel, eyes blazing furiously at the blonde. He gestured madly for him to shut up. Yohji on his side?! Yeah, right! Ken snorted. The playboy was only making things worse. The situation was bad enough as it was without Yohji adding his COMPLETELY unnecessary comments implying that- he shuddered in disgust at the idea- that he and Ken were together. Sleeping with the blonde would be like playing Russian roulette with his health. He could only imagine what STDs were residing happily within the promiscuous blonde, just waiting to be spread.  
  
OK, so maybe Ken was exaggerating a bit, but no one could deny the fact that the blonde was rather... laissez-faire with whom he chose to bed. What Omi must think! Ken thought worriedly. He mouthed the words "I'm going to kill you" over and over like a mantra, hoping that the message was getting through the blonde's thick skull.  
  
"I'm going now, guys. I really am very sorry. See you when I get back." Omi said quickly and left.  
  
When Ken heard the door close he stared down incredulously at the blonde, pissed beyond reason.  
  
Yohji closed his eyes and shrugged, continuing to smile smugly.  
  
Ken took this opportunity to leap on Yohji and initiate a full-out fistfight, having every intention to beat the blonde in such a way that he would never get laid again. By anyone. *Ever*  
  
-----*-----*-----*-----  
  
12:31 PM  
  
"Hello, I found this notebook yesterday and it belongs to one of the students here..." Omi paused after the secretary held up her hand for silence as she took a call.  
  
Omi's eyes wandered around the charming little office, finally resting on the old clock behind the secretary's desk.  
  
Half his lunch period was over, he noted dully.  
  
His eyes drifted over lazily to the huge bay window on the left side of the room, trying to find a distraction that would efficiently mute out the secretary's squawking voice from his mind. He looked out the window into the courtyard, which was filled with an array of students enjoying their lunch in the haven of a cool autumn afternoon. Omi silently wondered which one of the clusters of students Nagi was sitting amongst, which ones of the unidentifiable faces were those of his 'friends'.  
  
The clattering sound produced as the secretary nestled the phone into its cradle brought Omi's focus back to the middle-aged woman.  
  
"Who did you say it belonged to?" She asked, scribbling something onto a notepad as she swiveled agitatedly in her chair.  
  
"Uh, Naoe Nagi. So if you could please return it to him, I-"  
  
"Nagi, did you say? Well in that case, then you can give it to him yourself. He works at the nurse's office during lunch. It's right down there."  
  
Omi followed the woman's manicured fingertip, which pointed towards a door at the end of a narrow hallway to the right of her desk.  
  
He panicked as he fully absorbed the secretary's words. The wheels of his mind turning, Omi tried to think of a believable excuse to not meet with the Schwarz boy. "Er-Could I maybe, just... leave it, or-"  
  
Omi stopped as he acknowledged the secretary's eyebrows, raised in questioning. She looked irritated by the mere fact that someone ventured into her office and furthermore, gods forbid, wanted her help.  
  
"Uh... Never mind," He stuttered, a bit flustered. "Thank you."  
  
Gathering his wits, Omi made his way down the hallway and knocked cautiously on the door to the nurse's office, dread painfully making itself known in the pit of his stomach.  
  
"Come in," Replied a soft, muffled voice from inside.  
  
Taking in a deep breath, he turned the doorknob and cautiously poked his head into the room.  
  
The room was quaint and calming, subdued sunlight filtering through the window curtains and diffusing warmly into the entire space. It was furnished similarly to the secretary's office except that it possessed a pastel color scheme rather than a bright, tawny one, for the simple fact that it was more soothing on the eyes of the ill students that passed through daily. On one side of the room stood a couple of roll-away beds with retractable curtains designed to recreate the sense of privacy and personal space one would experience in their own bedroom. On the other side was a long counter over which several white cabinets were mounted.  
  
And that was where Nagi stood, facing sideways and donning a white lab coat typical of most medical workers. He was on his tiptoes, busy taking out various bottles of medicine from a cardboard box and arranging them on the shelves in some kind of organizational pattern.  
  
Omi slipped into the room and closed the door quietly, not wanting to disturb the other boy. He succumbed to the tranquility of the room, its serenity luring away his initial nervousness like a fiddled lullaby of the Pied Piper.  
  
Omi straightened and swallowed when the Schwarz boy looked at him with a mostly concealed expression of bewilderment.  
  
"Weiss." He said plainly.  
  
"Uh, hello," Omi said with one of those smiles he seemed to have in eternal supply. He grimaced at how high-pitched his voice had become, and cleared his throat. "Sorry to bother you here, in your work and all, but I thought you might be needing these or something. So..." Omi walked hesitantly towards the other boy, still a little unsure of himself, holding out the items. "Here you are."  
  
Nagi paused in his task, staring at the items as if they were going to jump up and eat him.  
  
After a tense moment (at least for Omi), the telekinetic took hold of the things and set them on the counter. He went back to arranging the jars on the shelf.  
  
Omi stared blankly for a bit, then started towards the door when he took Nagi's actions to mean dismissal.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Omi turned around, caught off-guard by the question. "Pardon?"  
  
"Why did you bother to bring it back here? You didn't have to, and it must've been troublesome."  
  
Omi stared absently as the shadows played on the back of Nagi's coat, alternating liberally between a light bluish color to a darker gray with the varying movements of his back muscles and arms. There wasn't much of a gradient between the two colors, and that, for some odd reason, reminded Omi of Nagi's moods, which never contrasted very greatly. He was usually melancholy, quiescent, somber-the blue; at times adrenaline could produce a cold flame of virulent passion-the gray. And that was it.  
  
Was that all there was to Nagi's repertoire of emotions? Omi wondered.  
  
"It wasn't very troublesome. I don't mind." He answered, smiling when he caught Nagi's eyes passing over his face.  
  
"Do you always smile so much?" Asked the Telekinetic, sounding bored. Or sad. Or melancholy. Or another one of those blues of his.  
  
Omi smile faltered for a second as he thought of a decently potent reply to the telekinetic's question. "Well... My philosophy is this: 'A friendly look, a kindly smile, one good act, and life's worthwhile.'" He said brightly.  
  
Nagi turned and caught Omi's gaze again for a moment, scowling visibly. "That's an awfully rosy way to look at things."  
  
Omi was about to say something defending his position, but changed his mind mid-breath. He thought for a moment, biting his cheek. "You know, I never saw an ugly smile. You should try it more often." He flushed faintly, a little surprised by his own audacity.  
  
"I'd rather not lie."  
  
"Oh." Omi did not know what else to say. He frowned slightly, wishing he knew how to pull the dark-haired boy out of the cage of despondency he seemed to be locked within.  
  
Then, Omi had an idea. A long shot, but it was worth a try.  
  
Maybe Nagi was grumpy because he didn't have lunch! (Omi himself confessed to being a little cranky if he missed a meal.) The Schwarz boy was cooped up in this clinic for the whole lunch period, so it would make sense that he didn't have time to grab something to eat.  
  
Ok, so Omi knew that it was naïve to think that food would solve all the boy's problems, but it *could* at least provide a temporary remedy, as well as a pleasant diversion.  
  
As Nagi pushed the emptied box of medicine under the counters, Omi blurted, "Do you want my sandwich?" He picked up his bag, waiting for the affirmative so that he could start rummaging through it for his lunch box.  
  
Again, the telekinetic looked at Omi as if he had asked if Nagi would accompany him to hunt penguins with ping-pong balls in the Sahara, or something equally as absurd.  
  
Omi was almost as surprised when the boy replied with, "What kind?"  
  
"Uh, tuna, I think." He pulled out his lunch from his bag and peeked inside to make sure. "Yep, tuna."  
  
"Alright, since you're offering." Nagi caught the saran-wrapped sandwich when it was tossed to him.  
  
Again, for the ump-teenth time this afternoon, Omi wasn't sure what to do and stayed hovering uncertainly near the door. Luckily, that problem was solved for him when Nagi asked is he was going to "keep standing there all day", and soon thereafter pointed to a chair opposite of him.  
  
Omi watched as Nagi unwrapped the sandwich. The brunette scrunched his nose as he picked off the onions from the top.  
  
"You don't like onions?" Omi asked, for the sake of conversation.  
  
The other boy shook his head briefly and took a bite.  
  
"I hope it's ok," Omi continued. "It's usually Ken who makes lunch, but today Yohji did it, and sometimes you don't know with him."  
  
"It's good," Nagi said between bites. "Better than anything Schuldig makes, at least."  
  
The small talk went on in much the same way for another ten minutes. Both boys stumbled uncomfortably through sentences, never completely sure what to say, loyalties to their separate teams always hanging in the back of their minds and regulating the words that passed through their lips.  
  
Eventually, when conversing had become a little easier, it was time for both boys to attend their classes.  
  
They said their indefinite goodbyes, and with that they parted for..... however long Time allowed.  
  
-----*-----*-----*-----  
  
3:16 PM  
  
Yohji and Ken sat at the flower-shop worktable in the aftermath of the impromptu civil brawl, each tending to their subsequent contusions.  
  
"Tell me again, how was saying that we were together supposed to help me?"  
  
Yohji ignored Ken and his dreadfully sarcastic tone for the moment. He took a long drag of his cigarette, and turned over the bag of frozen peas that was settled on his bruised eye so that the colder side was pressed to his skin.  
  
One would think that with them being assassins and more susceptible to injuries than your average Joe there'd be more ice packs in the house. But noooo, Ken *had* to take the last one. Yohji scowled. He believed that his black eye was infinitely higher on the list of priorities than Ken's jaw, as Ken had no one to impress or to look good for. Except Omi maybe, Yohji acquiesed. But Omi wasn't shallow enough to consider appearance as a deciding factor in who he was going to date, anyways.  
  
So, Yohji concluded, there was absolutely no reason for Ken to have the ice pack and should therefore give it up for someone with more vital needs, such as himself.  
  
"You know," Yohji drawled, "If this doesn't go away in a week, you're gonna have to find a way to quench my sexual appetite."  
  
Ken rolled his eyes. "Stop avoiding my question."  
  
Yohji sighed and put out the cigarette in an ashtray. He leaned back in his chair. "You know the saying, 'You always want what you can't have', Kenken?" He started slowly, enunciating ever syllable as if talking to a child.  
  
"Yeah, but-"  
  
"Shhh. Listen. Omi's in shock right now. But soon he will become conscious of the fact that we're both 'taken'. Then, will come the inevitable questioning of whether he ever had any feelings for either of us. Then, will come the slow realization that maybe, perhaps, he did. Next comes regret at not acting upon his emotions sooner. But at that point, we would've already dropped this whole act. And he'll be all yours. Comprende?"  
  
"Alright," Ken countered skeptically, "Not that I buy into this whole theory of yours, but what if he 'realizes he has feelings' for you?" Ken crossed his arms across his chest. "Then what?"  
  
Yohji snorted. "Oh, please. Omi'd rather... oh, I dunno... sleep with Schwarz than even consider doing anything like that with me. Not after..." He drifted off, letting out another short laugh. He got up from the table, stretching.  
  
"God! What did you do to him?!" Ken asked incredulously, following suit and standing up. "You child molester! Ugh, God! Is there anyone who HASN'T been affected by your sluttiness?"  
  
"Well, you, for one. And relax, relax. It's not what you're thinking." Smirking, he was having fun stringing Ken along.  
  
"Well, than what the hell is it?!" Ken demanded, following Yohji like a shadow.  
  
"Isn't it a little early to be playing the jealous boyfriend? Omi should be coming back in a few minutes, just thought I'd let you know. Oh, and look." Yohji smiled sweetly as the chimes above the door sounded. "We have costumers. I'll leave you to your job, then. I'll be in the back if you need me."  
  
Ken let out a long, suffering sigh as Yohji left him to tend to the costumer.  
  
The blonde seemed to enjoy treading on his nerves. Nevertheless, Ken admitted to himself that he was desperate, and he didn't really know how to deal with romance. Maybe the playboy's plan is worth trying, Ken thought as he wrapped a bouquet of chrysanthemums, alstroemerias, Ecuadorian roses, and kangaroo paws. After all, as Yohji pointed out earlier, this area *was* the blonde's forte.  
  
Probably his only talent, Ken added bitterly.  
  
"That'll be 4,600 yen, please."  
  
-----*-----*-----*-----  
  
6:27 PM  
  
Omi watched as Aya chopped a myriad of vegetable on the kitchen counter.  
  
Kitchen counter. Where Yohji and Ken... where Yohji and Ken said that... that they...  
  
Omi swallowed hard and paled. Ken and Yohji... did... *IT* on the counter, and now Aya was preparing food for him to eat on it. EAT. As in, put into his mouth. On the kitchen counter. The kitchen counter where Ken and Yohji-  
  
Well, you get the idea.  
  
Omi thought he was going to faint. Or throw up.  
  
He wasn't very knowledgeable on the subject gay sex (or any other sex, for that matter), but he was sure it was messy. And there was probably some... *stuff* left over... which was probably getting on the food...  
  
*Oh gods*... Omi thought as he laid his head down in his arms.  
  
Omi noticed the blade had ceased its actions and rested on the chopping board, dormant. Puzzled, Omi traced the edge of the knife with his gaze, bringing it up the arm of its wielder and up to Aya's face. "Are you alright?" Aya asked when Omi met his eyes.  
  
"Eheheh..." Omi laughed embarrassedly. "I'm fine, Aya-kun, thank you. I was just thinking about something....."  
  
Omi decided it was time to direct his mind to something else. Preferably something more sanitary.  
  
Like his afternoon with Nagi, which he wasn't sure how to feel about.  
  
He started by making a mental list of what he had learned about the other boy.  
  
1. He didn't like onions.  
  
2. Schuldich can't cook well; he once dumped the packet of cheese into  
the pot of noodles without draining the water first.  
  
3. Once, a long, long time ago, Farfarello cooked since neither Brad  
nor Schuldich were home. Nagi ended up at the hospital for a week.  
Needless to say, they don't let him in the kitchen anymore.  
  
Omi felt a little satisfied that he could get the telekinetic to open up a bit.  
  
Instantly and all at once, a flood of doubts came into his mind. Mad, choleric, and storming furiously, they screamed he was betraying his team and darted through his thoughts relentlessly, like vicious sprites.  
  
Omi tried to logically rationalize all the accusations that were thrown at him.  
  
It wasn't as if he was purposely trying to befriend his enemy and betray his team; it just seemed that somehow, circumstances always made sure their paths crossed. He doubted that the Schwarz boy purposely lured him into the alley, or purposely dropped his belongings. None of it was on purpose; it was..... fate, maybe. Or chance. And as long as he was allowed the opportunity, why *not* get to know Nagi? And why *not* become Nagi's friend? As long as neither of them talked about their separate missions or the conflict between Weiss and Schwarz, it was fine. It would be like all the other "surface" friendships he had at school. His "friends" knew nothing about his missions or his job. He only talked to them in school, and maybe went to the mall with them once in a while. No one knew about his private life, and he didn't let them get close enough to even care about it.  
  
It could be the same thing with Nagi, only... better. Because Nagi would know that he's a killer, and not hate him for it. Nagi wouldn't question his sporadic absences from school or his injuries, because he would know their causes. Nagi wouldn't care how much blood he sheds, because he does the same. They would share an understanding that Omi would be able to have with no other person, save for his teammates.  
  
The more Omi thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure what Nagi thought about the idea. Nevertheless, they had exchanged e-mails, so whatever happened, happened. Omi decided that he wasn't going to worry excessively over this, but rather deal with it as it comes. There was no sense in fretting over something one has little or no control over.  
  
The shuffle of multiple pairs of footsteps brought Omi out of his reverie. He lifted up his head towards the noise.  
  
Ken and Yohji entered the kitchen, along with Manx, walking towards the stairs leading down.  
  
"Mission." Yohji stated, and Aya was already heading towards them.  
  
Omi rose as well, and the five-some filed into the basement.  
  
-----*-----*-----*-----  
  
Fin. 1st draft 11.02, 2:07 AM  
  
AN: . I'm sorry that nothing happens in this chapter. Really. -_- The next chapter will be more eventful, I promise. I was going to put the mission scene into this chapter, but it's already 15 pages long and I'd rather not prolong an update even further. Lastly, I apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes I overlooked; this chapter could probably use another look-over, but I'm feeling lazy, and it's about time I should start on my 10-page research paper that is due in two days. . If you feel like there's something you want to say regarding this chapter, cool. Reviews always make me happy. 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz.

AN: I have NOT stopped writing! Muahah. Finishing this chapter was like pulling teeth. Ending is cheese, and for that I apologize.

Chapter 3

November 3rd, 7:00 P.M

Nagi sighed, closed his book, and resigned himself to watching cake-cut slices of moonlight tickle the surface of the lake.

It was late. The paper lanterns in the main area provided little light to where he was sitting, and he was probably well on his way to ruining his eyes.

He hated it here.

Long past the point of regretting not bringing his laptop he leaned back against the tree and folded his arms, hoping to provide a buffer between his body and the chilly autumn air.

It was November 3rd--bunkano-hi, a national holiday. His school sponsored a fieldtrip for the students to Hakone, so that in addition to getting a break from school they might take part in the festival and see the city's annual Federal Lord's Parade. Nagi was in favor of skipping the ordeal altogether until the ever sensible Crawford advised it unwise to do so, especially since he was required to put together a cultural presentation worth a significant portion of his grade.

He had given the presentation in the morning, hours ago. It was long over and now he sat and suffered, bored to tears.

Laughter and chatter drifted down to where he was situated, a vestige of the joy and ebullience the festival brought to the people just over the hill. He would have rolled his eyes, had it not been such a useless waste of energy.

In his growing tedium, the brunette's thoughts dawdled over the Weiss boy.

The blond had come to his school the other day to return that stupid notebook. An act which simultaneously broke the monotony of school life and defied all logic. If one thought about it scientifically and reasonably (which Nagi tended to do with all aspects of life, be they personal or study-related), there was no personal gain in walking several miles to return someone's book--much less a declared opponent's. In fact, the gain seemed to be in simply tossing it and forgetting; the Weiss boy would have gotten to eat his lunch, socialize with his friends, and avoid a long walk on a nippy day.

But then again, Nagi mused, all of Weiss seemed to enjoy breaking the laws of logic. They consistently acted in such ways that had absolutely no benefit to their own existence, putting strangers' lives before their own, committing random acts of heroism that promoted the well-being of the public and eliminated threats to society's prosperity.

It was all quite silly, Nagi thought. Why bother helping a race that didn't appreciate it, didn't want it, and just didn't care? And who would later go on making the same mistakes over and over again, like a child who can't learn?

How tedious.

Nevertheless, Nagi found the blue-eyed boy somewhat interesting smudge in his monotonous life, able to seize his attention and stir his curiosity--giving him the same feeling as hacking into protected government files or interpreting Giger's cyber-morbid paintings did.

And it did not escape Nagi's attention that as of late a greater force has been trying to push the two of them together, wanting them to interact and develop some sort of relationship through the suspicious coincidences that kept being thrown their way (something that was unlikely to happen, as the boys' personalities and jobs repelled each other like two protons).

And lo and behold, in yet another strange meeting of circumstance, it seemed that the boy's school had also participated in this trip. In all honesty, Nagi was not surprised. He had caught sight of the blond earlier laughing with his friends on a fountain ledge, stuffing his mouth with spoonfuls of artery-clogging ice-cream sundaes. Nagi artfully averted becoming ensnared in this 'coincidence' by immediately ducking and heading in the opposite direction. He just hoped the blond would also avoid falling into the strange cycle.

His thoughts suspended momentarily when he heard the shuffling of feet nearby (he regretted to induce that this probably meant an actual tangible person was coming to bother him, as feet don't usually walk by themselves). The steps stumbled for a second, accompanied by a countertenor yelp.

Omi, most likely. Idiot.

A few seconds later the intruder presented himself.

The gods liked to pretend they are comedians, Nagi decided, running a cursory glance over the smiling face of the Weiss hacker. And they were about as good at it as Nagi was at presenting the history of Ancient Rome through interpretive dance.

For a brief moment Nagi thought how it would feel to claw, scratch, tear off that infuriating, ever-present smile with his nails, leaving the blonde's mouth a lipless, bloody, black cavern.

Nagi quickly extinguished _that_ idea. Quite frankly, it was not something one did in polite company.

"Um, sorry if I'm bothering you. If you want to be left alone, I understand………" The blond bowed quickly in apology. He watched Nagi, gauging for a reaction, ready to leave if he was asked (or threatened) to. The brunette shrugged, leaving the answer open to his own elucidation, and turned his gaze back towards the lake.

Omi (who Nagi determined must be either the most persistent or most naïve boy he had ever met) offered him one of the sticks of yakitori he held.

Nagi wordlessly took the presented skewer and stared at the meat, unimpressed.

This situation reminded him of a twisted, real-time parody of Orwell's "1984" concept, doublethink—the ability to believe two contradictory ideas at the same time. Omi was and wasn't his foe. Omi was a casual friend who came to chitchat with him about school and girls and other normal high school things. Omi was part of Weiss, a group whose goal was to disable his own group. Omi wasn't part of Weiss. Omi was trying to help him.

"Contradictions." He said quietly, rolling the skewer between his fingers.

"Pardon?"

"Hm. Nothing."

"Uh, okay………" Silence. Then, "Um, some of my friends and I are taking a canoe out on the lake. Do you want to—"

"No."

"Alright," Omi plopped down beside Nagi and started plucking nervously at the dying grass. "What do you want to do? We could eat at one of the stands. Orochi-san has the best mackerel-stuffed onigiri—oh, I still want to get a goldfish at the game booths, though I don't seem to have much luck at those things, so we could--"

"'We'? Why are you here?" Nagi interrupted, trying to sound indifferent though he was unreasonably far from being so. The babbling sent a faint spark of annoyance through Nagi, and he came to a sudden realization: Omi disturbed him. The smiles disturbed him, the happy-go-lucky attitude disturbed him. Omi was………like a dog. A dog that was always there, simple-minded, moronically heroic. One that, given enough time, would hopefully learn that he was not welcomed.

Nagi decided to hate dogs.

"Well, it is a festival and all……… Everyone's having fun; I saw you come down here earlier and thought I'd see how you were doing when you didn't come up for so long."

This situation—Weiss being here--………made him a bit nervous. Which was completely irrational, as he was perfectly capable of defending himself………

But what annoyed him most was that he couldn't figure out what Omi hoped to accomplish by being here with him. What was Omi's purpose? Did he want to hear the Schwarz tidbits that he hoped Nagi would let slip? That was all the brunette could offer that could be of use to him; the only reason he'd keep his company, Nagi thought somewhat bitterly. The Weiss boy should be wise enough, then, to know that Nagi was trained in this sort of thing and was very good at keeping his mouth shut.

Having time to stew in his thoughts, Nagi found himself quickly growing more and more irate.

"What do you want?" Nagi nearly growled, uncharacteristically frustrated.

"I—"

"You want me to betray Schwarz? To tell you everything about the nature of our missions, our purpose, our data?" He clamped his eyelids shut, feeling angry beads of sweat break out across his forehead. The blond stared with wide eyes. He should stop, Nagi thought, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. "You want me to snoop for you, you want to turn me to your side and fill me with ideological bullshit, make me forget the blood stains, make me believe that what I'm doing is for the common good?" His voice rose dangerously in volume, his breath came more difficultly. He tried to keep his mind focused and within the boundaries of balance by methodically digging each nail into his palm. He knew what he said wasn't true, and he wasn't sure why he'd said it-- but perhaps the words would chase the blond away.

"No, that's not it!" The blond sprang to his feet in response, holding his hands up in defense. "I'm sorry I came down here. Maybe it was a mistake. But I was genuinely trying to be nice, to be _human_. I don't want to preach to you. I don't care about Schwarz, Weiss--any of that stuff, right now." Omi took a breath, looked down to gather his thoughts, then continued firmly and sincerely. "I'm sorry you feel the way you do, but we need a break from what we do. Everyone needs someone--to………I don't know……… talk to, be around, --that doesn't judge them and who doesn't ask questions. I honestly thought that maybe………that somehow—" Harsh, self-deprecating laugh. "Never mind. Sorry I bothered you." He turned in a flurry of dead leaves and disappeared.

Nagi took a shaky breath, then swallowed hard past the lump in his throat.

Oh dear. He coughed lightly into his hand.

He overdid it a bit this time, he acquiesced.

Anger did serve as a valuable motivator at times, but here it was unnecessary. He wasn't sure how it was even _possible_ for him to get as angry as he did. It was an emotion he rarely felt. What was even more curious, however, was that this boy, quite insignificant in Schwarz' realm of vision, was the one that brought this feeling out of him.

No matter, he sighed. It was unlikely that he'd be seeing the Weiss boy again. The blond probably thought he was a raving lunatic, which most likely wasn't far from the truth. Best to put it out of memory.

Nagi glanced at his palm, taking in the bloody half-circle cuts his nails created. They resembled four red sunrises, he observed. It was kind of nice and rather symbolic, indicating that every day began with bloodshed and murder. He ran a thumb over the wounds and spread out the few drops of blood over his hand, covering as much surface area as possible with the liquid until it looked like a dry layer of rust had settled on his skin.

He finally took out a napkin to clean the hand. Afterwards he intended to do something productive, but found himself too restless to concentrate. Something was nagging on the back of his mind, leaving him unfocused.

Nagi didn't want to think it could be anything but his prolonged inactivity. He _had_ been sitting there for a while. Most of the day, in fact. He should get up and walk a bit, spend some of his extra energy.

Nagi gracefully made his way up the hill and into the maelstrom of people, lights, colors, and food. He heard the music of wind instrument playing in the background, mostly drowned by the noise. Its airy sounds seemed inappropriately tranquil amidst the commotion.

He reached into his pocket experimentally, pulling out some spare change, four game tickets, and a pass for one free ride on the ferris wheel. He drifted down the rows of stands, inspecting the little shops with cursory notice. Some sold gaudy hand-made jewelry and other trinkets. A large majority provided costumers with a variety of smoked meats, fish, fried vegetables, and deserts. And, of course, there were the game booths, intended as a more unnoticeable and indirect way to empty people's pockets.

He went up to one such booth and traded his four tickets for a pair of white ping-pong balls. The game was that the player had to throw the ball into one of the many tiny fishbowls arranged in tight rows on a clothed table several feet from the player. Because of the miniscule size of the openings the task proved nearly impossible for most, but was a cake walk for Nagi, providing his………distinguishing abilities.

He easily got the ball into the center bowl on the first try, disguising it with the same arch and speed of a regular throw.

Even if Nagi had wanted to try his luck winning the old-fashioned way, it took more effort and energy than he cared to expend. His telekinesis often acted on instinct, kicking in when a situation such as this presented itself. He likened it to a literate person whose brain can't help but interpret a sign that catches his eye at the side of the road. Even if he closed his eyes afterwards, the image and meaning of the words is already burned in permanently.

He left the stand as a proud owner of a chubby, fluttering orange fish, finding the creature mildly repulsive as he inspected it through the clear plastic bag. He promptly headed back towards his silent asylum near the lake, walking a bit slower than necessary as he couldn't help looking around for……… _something_.

He didn't want to admit what (or who) that something (or someone) was, as he feared the knowledge might disturb his already fragile mental faculties.

As he passed the picnic area, he found the unmentionable thing (or person) he had been searching for. It had not been overly difficult, as most of the people had cleared the tables in favor of getting some last minute activities in before the festival's closing at nightfall.

The blond was sitting at one of the picnic tables bent over a book, splayed fingers drumming to the beat contained to the earphones he was wearing. Nagi approached soundlessly, not feeling as relaxed as he should have been or as he would have liked to admit. He set down the fish by Omi's arm wordlessly, not believing that he was obligated to explain his actions, and began to saunter away.

He only took several steps when he heard a muffled "wait!" and the ungentle metallic clanking of the CD player. Nagi paused, weighing his options. He couldn't pretend he hadn't heard the other boy. There were very few other options to choose from, and even less that appealed to him. In the end he shrugged mentally and turned back to the table, unable to find a feasible reason for not acting hospitable, when it was obvious that there wasn't going to be an altercation. He sat down at the edge of the wooden bench when a seat was offered, gazing at the worn and slightly rotted boards that held together flimsily to form a semi-sturdy surface. He immediately made it a priority not to touch any bare skin on the tabletop; considering how many people had used it, it was probably contaminated with a third of the world's bacterial population. The right side of his upper lip curled slightly in revulsion.

Omi sent a tight, nervous smile the brunette's way. He said thanks, and Nagi shrugged out loud in acknowledgment. Omi's eyed moved back to the floating creature, his tight smile instantly morphing more open and delighted as he poked at the plastic until the fish sought sanctuary at the other corner. Nagi wished i he /i could find such happiness in a fish.

"I was never good at carnival games………" Omi started, laughing delicately. "Uh. Um………Well, I'm glad you're here now. Sorry about before, I didn't want you to get the wrong impression or anything………" Nagi instantly labeled the statement as insincere, brought on only by the blonde's foolish need for communication, and therefore tuned out the rest. When he decided to register sound again, he caught another round of the Weiss boy's embarrassed laughter and "thank you's".

The laughter was quite needless, and Nagi didn't feel the urge to shrug again. But he did, to keep up the appearance of attentiveness. He wasn't sure why he was making such an effort for a guy like Omi. Nevertheless, he was pleased that Omi didn't do something stupid like asking him why he had given him the goldfish in the first place. If the blond boy had inquired, Nagi was sure he would have been entitled to cause the boy some kind of physical pain. Nagi liked basking in the safety of that violent reply rather than opting for the much more sincere and vulnerable answer, "I don't know, I've never really given anyone anything.".

He looked over at Omi who now had his arm on the table with chin resting on top, eyes level with the fish, face a shade redder as his index finger traced an amateurishly carved design in the wood; most likely picking up millions of potential diseases along the way.

Nagi now made it a priority to avoid Omi's index finger.

A few minutes of silence followed, which Omi spent shifting restlessly on the bench while the brunette blinked slowly into the crimson-tinged horizon. Nagi thought the color mixture resembled a bleeding bruise. He liked it.

Some more minutes passed idly. Suddenly Omi's eyes lit up, an idea obviously forming behind them. "Hey," He started, holding a pastel-colored piece of paper, "did you get one of these?"

Nagi fished in his pocket for the rumpled ferris wheel ticket, setting it on the table beside the blond's.

"Do you want to go?" The boy asked eagerly, almost losing the words through the intense smile that appeared on his face.

Nagi stared at him. For the second time, he wished he could find such joy in such simple things. The boy was entirely too happy. Nagi was quite certain he could give the boy a stick, saying it was infused with his love and diligence, and the blond would have passed out after his uncontained screeches of happiness. Perhaps this enthusiasm for life was influenced by some sort of drugs, but Nagi had a sneaking suspicion it was a genetic abnormality.

Drugs would have made more sense, though.

Nagi had stared too long without reply, as the expression on the other boy's face started crumpling. Nagi looked away. "Ok," He agreed quietly.

The smile was back up, reminding Nagi of one of those toothpaste ads in which the models' grins were so wide and unnatural that the lips must have been stapled in place.

He wondered if the blond would perhaps let him staple his lips into a permanent frown, as the constant smiles were giving him a headache.

"Alright, let's hurry then," The blond exclaimed, "it closes in less than an hour."

The blond bounced up and bounded ahead of him through the crowds, glancing over his shoulder every few steps to make sure Nagi was still following. The brunette ambled behind at a leisurely pace, somewhat mystified at the other boy's uncanny ability to weave his way through the maze of people and arrive at their mutual destination quickly and efficiently.

Luckily they made it into the line before the closing rush of people stampeded from behind, most of which were couples holding hands and doing other nauseatingly sweet couple-like things. Seeing this made Nagi want to choke himself. But then again, lots of things made Nagi want to choke himself.

They waited patiently, each leaning against opposite side of the queue rail, shuffling forward in half steps when the line moved. Nagi watched as Omi picked at his fingernails, obviously uncomfortable with the lack of conversation. Predictable, given the blond's needy nature. Nagi envisioned that some sort of sound would come out of the blonde's mouth within the next ten seconds.

As usual, he was correct.

"So………Do you want to sit at the side overlooking the lake? It's probably a great view, especially at the top………"

Nagi's lips quirked wryly and he quickly ducked his head to hide the unacceptable slip of expression with his bangs. "You take it. I've stared at that bloody lake for most of the day."

"Are you sure? It's really ok, if you want—"

A sharp glance from the brunette killed the rest of the words. It was decided.

The gates in front of them opened soon after their short exchange, and a gristly man in an equally gristly cap let them into one of the carts.

Nagi sighed, laid his elbow against the back of the seat, resting his chin against his hand. He had been in a ferris wheel once before and still failed to grasp what the appeal was. They were slower than anything he had ever ridden in, expensive for only the half mile diameter they covered, and left you in the same place you started when all was said and done. Completely illogical and pointless-- like he'd lately been thinking his existence was. Only he was definitely cleaner and nicer to look at.

As the wheel started crawling upwards, Nagi stared down at the blue-capped ride operator until he became another speck in the sea of people. Even he managed to look non-repulsive from this altitude. It was only when you let yourself become close to someone that you realize how dirty and useless they are, and how much better off you are alone, Nagi reaffirmed to himself. He briefly looked behind him at the parking lot below. He contemplated unlatching the door and taking a swan dive out of the cart, landing in a poetic heap of defective molecules on the pavement, hidden between the cars. Maybe he could add a somersault or twist for aesthetic purposes. Maybe a snot-nosed toddler would find his mangled corpse and be scarred for life. He smiled a little at the thought.

Their cart completed the first half-circle and stopped at the highest point, allowing them to experience a breathtaking view of the lake. Looking past Omi, Nagi admitted it was pretty nice, not something that could be found every day in Tokyo. The lake was dark and still, colorful paper lanterns and other decorations sprinkling playfully along its edge. Nagi heard a few murmured words of appreciation from Omi as he leaned over as far as the rail would allow, drinking in the view and probably filing it for remembrance on a cold night in the cramped, polluted city.

Nagi closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. To be truthful, the blonde's company wasn't _too_ irritating. Omi was easy to deal with, not really requiring anything of the brunette except his presence. Which really wasn't hard or tiresome for Nagi to give.

The blue-eyed boy swiveled his head towards him, intense contemplation in his eyes and warm flush in his cheeks. "Don't you think life is sorta like this?"

Nagi forced himself to make uncomfortable eye contact with the other, faint crease appearing in between his eyebrows at the blond's curious tone. He just hoped this wasn't the start of some half-baked pseudo-philosophical shit about the meaning of life or the origin of UFOs; he had heard enough of those from the drunken Schuldig.

Omi fixated his eyes thoughtfully on a point past the brunette's shoulder. Or maybe on his shoulder, but Nagi couldn't tell.

"I don't know……… This may sound stupid to you, but……… life leads to one point, one climax. That is the one place we wait for from the time we are born, the one place we find true happiness. We never want that moment to end, but it _has_ to. After that, our purpose has been fulfilled, and nothing can compare to that one high place. Life becomes monotonous, gradually drudging downhill. There's nothing between that one beautiful point, that one glorious stop, and the end. This is what we've been waiting for during the whole ride; but it only lasts a second, and then there's nothing. It all ends so abruptly……… without warning." The blond trailed off quietly.

Nagi inspected Omi's face. The words seemed uncharacteristically pessimistic coming from a member of the group whose motto and mission was to 'change the world, one good deed at a time'. He glanced at the blue eyes, temporarily retaining a certain raw sadness as they floated in their own memories. The cheeks were still flushed, the lips still parted. He looked like some young Greek legendary hero, just learning that the cause he was fighting for was a farce or that the princess he had nearly died saving had been a lowly, expendable servant girl.

Omi was nice enough to look at, the brunette decided, and continued to study the planes of the Weiss assassin's face. The good points overrode its flaws. The eyes were big, so clearly defined that they appeared to glow at times. The nose was rather plain and looked squishy; the cheeks were probably a little too round and could use to be shaved down a tad. Time would take care of that. His favorite part was the shape of the other boy's mouth. It was flawlessly full and pouty and red. Nagi envied its almost-perfection.

The telekinetic had to finally avert his eyes when an innocent swipe of tongue across the blonde's bottom lip caused Nagi to have………. strange thoughts about said mouth. More frightening still was that he saw said mouth interacting with his own mouth. Mildly shaken, Nagi glared ahead of him, berating himself for the weird course his mind had taken. He wrote it off as yet another aspect of his mental instability. He must be going crazy. More crazy.

His concentration ground to a brilliantly explosive halt when he felt something wet and warm against his cheek, leaving that area of his skin a patch of burning, tingling flesh after it lifted. The brunette's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets as he turned to find the source of the moisture and pressure. He found Omi inches from his face, the blonde's damp breath brushing the bridge of his nose. They remained in the position for a long moment--Omi leaning over him, his arms supporting his weight, and Nagi paralysed into the corner of the compartment.

Nagi blinked a few times, unable to clear the fog from his mind. Suddenly the ferris wheel jarred back into movement, leaving the top and starting on what Omi called the "downward cycle". They both jerked forward following the law of inertia, and this seemed to break both boys' spell. Omi immediately jumped back, flush turning from salmon pink to raging red, stuttering out an apology and moving as far away from Nagi was allowed in the small space. Nagi in turn released his breath, which in turn unfroze his thoughts. The blond looked sort of pitiful, face in his hands and knees up to his chest. So easily embarrassed, he was. Nagi envied him for at least knowing how he felt, while he was cruelly left to figure out his emotions for himself.

He relaxed and hesitantly rubbed a finger over the spot which Omi's mouth touched. _Kissed_. He'd had only one kiss before, from Tot. He likened that one to a slab of raw meat smacking his face; her lips were wet and lukewarm and left a residue of saliva and lip gloss and other gunk on his cheek.

He scrubbed his face with a loofah for over an hour after that.

This one was different. It had been more like a pinprick, the jab of lips instantly sending a electric jolt through his nervous system. As he mulled over that, he was suddenly struck by a feeling of vengeance and a need for retribution. Why was _he_ the one that was caught by surprise and left speechless? How dare the blond do something like that, and not expect consequences and revenge? Injustice. It was like beating up a clown and not expecting for the rest of the circus to show up on your doorstep the next day with explosives. His blinding sense of social justice entreated him to give Omi the same treatment.

He turned to the blond, determined to exact his revenge. The blue-eyed boy's head was turned away from his, upper body still hunched over his knees, leaving only his back and the wheat-colored hair in Nagi's line of sight. A kiss to the back of the neck would be weird. And it left open the very real possibility for getting a bloody nose if the blond decided to snap his head back or whip his face around. That would effectively ruin everything. Unless the blond was into blood play or sadism, which Nagi was fairly certain wasn't the case.

After exploring his options, Nagi settled on moving his body closer and resting his head on the protective metal cage in the front of the compartment (he was so going spend the next day soaking his head in a vat of disinfectant). It was an uncomfortable position since his torso was hanging off the seat and his legs were angled away from his body, and he winced at the growing throb of tension in his neck and shoulders. He leaned forward, brushed a few intrusive locks of hair from the blonde's face, and put his lips to the other boy's cheekbone. The lightest weight the human body could feel upon it is two micrograms, approximately equivalent to the mass of a pinky-tip sized piece of paper falling onto the palm of one's hand. Nagi was sure the light pressure he was exerting couldn't have been more than that. He blinked against the skin, suddenly too aware of his inexperience as he felt the body beneath his turn rigid. Nagi moved away several millimeters to allow the blond room to face him. Or pull away from him. Whatever.

The blue gaze locked into his own, and they stared at each other for a dozen seconds.

It seemed like a thousand years.

The natural thing for Nagi's body to do was to move closer and seek more contact. And for the first time in his life, he acted with no deliberation. He pushed off the cage and gently assaulted the blond's mouth, mind unreceptive to everything but the primal presence of the other boy. The lips beneath his were pleasantly soft and firm, not gooey and dirty and raw meat-like as Tot's were. He kept his lips frozen in place until the blond started to relax, his body melding comfortably into the contact.

Finally championing his initial shock, Omi celebrated by parting his lips and sighing a gust of hot air against Nagi's mouth. The brunette caught his breath when a prickly tingling danced along his spine, making him shiver and press closer. He retaliated by setting his knee against the other boy's thigh and leaning over him, no longer able to ignore the pain in his back. Some time during the shift, the brown-haired boy's mouth also eased open, and the blond maneuvered the offered bottom lip into his mouth. The gentle suction sent a stream of heat through his body and specifically his gut, enflaming his sensory system more so than the adrenaline of a dangerous mission. One of Omi's hands clenched spasmodically around his shirt, jerking him forward until the brunette was nearly straddling his hips.

Nagi pulled his mouth free for a second, adjusting his arm against the seat for better support. "See," he murmured as his free hand settled on the blonde's forearm, fingers rubbing tenderly at the skin. "Sometimes good things happen in-between." He dipped his head down again, teeth tugging at the other boy's lips teasingly, wondering if the treatment could maybe turn them even more red and full. One of the blue-eyed boy's hands still danced between them, fingers nipping at the skin through the heavy cloth. The other hand pulled on the brunette's hair, twisting the strands and brushing the scalp so skillfully that for a second Nagi wanted to lean back and enjoy the massage. Until he realized there were bigger and better things within reach, of course.

Omi's lips ventured down, pressing light feather kisses along the jaw line and neck. Nagi tipped his head back, trying not to analyze what was happening, or why it was happening, but simply to enjoy it and just _feel_. And by some unexpected onslaught of emotion being dragged out from the depths of his person, Nagi suddenly realized he felt depressed, unhappy, dependent, and in need of someone, in need of exactly _this_. The feelings overtook his pride, and he found himself collapsing into the other boy, head buried in the crook of his neck and arms wound tightly around the body. Sometimes life just became too real, too miserable, too _lonely_ to handle, and the guise of normality exploded like a dam holding one too many drops of water. One only realized his misery when a catalyst like Omi entered into the equation bringing a new, foreign, and unexpectedly _nice_ aspect into the despondently monotonous cycle. He clung to the compassionate body like an alcoholic to his bottle, wishing he could melt into the everlasting warmth.

The blond was again surprised into unresponsiveness, blinking at the shaking boy clinging to him. He soon regained his wits, however, and though he wasn't aware of what was happening with the other boy, he provided comfort wholeheartedly by hugging the brunette close and massaging his back in soothing circles.

Nagi stayed in place because dammit, it felt _good_ and _safe_ and _harmless_, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Finally, guilt and shame replaced the warm haze of selfish pleasure. He had no right to use the other boy like this, to take and take and not give anything back. Plus, it wouldn't do to become attached, or allow the other boy to become attached. This was not a permanent arrangement. And what the hell was he doing, anyway? Acting like some little needy child, afraid of the big bad world, hiding under his mother's skirt? It was embarrassing. Really.

He pulled away somewhat reluctantly and closed his eyes, a temporary escape he used frequently.

Well, wasn't this awkward.

What was he supposed to do now? 'Hey, sorry I nearly broke down on you there, but you know, I hate myself, I want to die, and I have a whole slew of other mental problems. No worries, though. I'm pretty sure I'll last another couple of years before doing something _really_ mental like hanging myself. Pretend like this never happened.' Riiiiiiiight.

The only way Nagi could come up with to save face was continue with their make out session, pretending like the mental breakdown was some weird form of foreplay. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be fooling Omi, and he definitely wouldn't be fooling himself, but what else was there to do? Detaching your emotions and distracting yourself seemed like the best option.

He slitted his eyes open, automatically staring into the watery cerulean eyes just below. And was he hated what he saw etched in them, written as plain as daylight: Pity.

_Pity_.

He felt his blood boil.

"Nagi, it's alright," The blond started quietly, reaching out.

"Shut up," He snapped, slapping away the hand and shoving the blond back. Hard. Nagi grabbed the other boy's chin roughly, making him reflexively wince and bite his lip. "Shut up………" He murmured again, before leaning in and sliding his eyes closed.

This time Nagi decided not to fool around. He pressed his tongue purposefully against the other boy's lips, wedging them open, then running it slowly and slickly across the roof of the blonde's mouth. Pulling away he nibbled at the lips and neck while the blond stretched up like a panther, mewling at the intensity. One of Nagi's hands slid from gripping the chin to threading his fingers through the short hair at the base of the other boy's neck, while the other sought blindly to rest on his waist, accidentally coming into contact with bare skin where blonde's shirt lifted off his body. The telekinetic faltered for a second, surprised by the naked contact (though not unpleasantly so), then boldly dragged his fingers further up to the blonde's ribs, liking the smoothness of it under the rougher skin of his palms.

Nagi suddenly became aware of insistent tapping on his shoulders, and realized a bit late that it wasn't caused by either of their fingers. He broke their contact and turned in irritation. He met with the scowling face of the ride-operator.

"Ride's over, boys. Hurry up and get out, we've got people waiting."

Behind the blue-capped man were several dozen inquisitive eyes peering into the compartment to get a glimpse of what the hold up was.

A few seconds stretched eternally as Nagi looked away from the crowd, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

Well. This certainly was an embarrassing situation to be in.

He shuffled gracefully out of the car, smoothing over his clothes and jutting his chin out in feigned nonchalance.

"Don't forget your boyfriend," called out the man, twisting his lips.

The brunette glanced over his shoulder to see where the other boy was, and was surprised to see that he was still sitting motionless in the compartment, staring ahead and pressing his fingers to his lips as if checking for damage. Nagi went back and pulled him by the wrist from the seat, leading him quickly through the crowd of judgmental faces as easily as if he were a toy balloon. As an afterthought, he made sure the ride-operator face had a very nasty collision with the floor for his snide remark.

The telekinetic dragged Omi through the picnic area and down the familiar hill, letting go of his arm when they found themselves in Nagi's quiet sanctuary from earlier.

The blonde's voice finally cut through the nightly silence like a razor "What was that?" he asked, once again touching his lips as if he needed to indicate what he was speaking of.

"I dunno," The brunette replied with a careless shrug. "You want to do it again?"

"O-okay………"

And soon they were entwined once again.

This lasted shortly, however, as a horn sounded repeatedly somewhere in the distance and Omi reluctantly pulled away. "That's our bus…...... I should probably get going." Omi looked around, scratching his head. "Are you leaving soon?"

Nagi shook his head. "Our class staying the night."

Both boys made their way up the hill, Omi occasionally brushing his fingers against Nagi's hand in a wimpy attempt for hand-holding. They stopped at the gate to the parking lot, lingering, Omi not knowing what to say and Nagi not really wanting him to.

After some more not-talking passed, Nagi broke the silence. "You should go, they'll leave without you."

"Uh, Yeah, you're right. Heheh." Break. "Do you wanna maybe hang out or something sometime soon? Or you know, whenever you have time and stuff, 'cause I know you're busy………"

Nagi pursed his lips and tried to look contemplative, though he already knew the answer. He took a notebook out of his bag, pressing it against the blue-eyed boys chest. "You should hurry in returning it. I may need it in a few days," He ducked his head to hide a half smile.

Omi hugged the notebook, beaming smile nearly cracking his face. He pressed a few quick kisses on the brunette's mouth, then, waving, headed for his bus with a bounce in his step.

Nagi sauntered back to the lake, kicking up puffs of leaves in his wake. He leaned against the tree and looked at the sky. For the first time in forever, he felt he could count the stars.


End file.
